The Bowl is Empty
by HoodedSpellcaster
Summary: The letter is still on the edge of the fireplace. He never sent it. He couldn't. Lily Evans is dead.


**The Bowl is Empty**

Summary: The letter is still on the edge of the fireplace. He never sent it. He couldn't. Lily Evans is dead.

A/N: I found my sketch (which I had made just in case) for the Quidditch League Round 6 (LETTERS!) and I decided to finish it (after altering it a little) just for fun (and because I have too much free time). As Chaser 3 was meant to write a teacher/student fic here's a letter from Horace Slughorn to Lily Evans, one of his favourite students.

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><p>There is a letter on the edge of the fireplace. It's worn out for being read many times, the words written with green ink barely readable as they're smudged by fallen tears. It holds many feelings, the letter. There isn't a stamp on the corner of the letter. It was never sent, you see. But it was meant to a truly special student.<p>

And though Horace Slughorn had never been good with writing letters, he had tried, after all.

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><p><em>12th November, 1981.<em>

_Dear Miss Lily Evans-Potter_

_I've never been one to use words effectively, Lily, that's never been my cup of tea. But Dumbledore visited me and insisted I write this letter to you. He was very stubborn when I initially disagreed. He thought it would make me feel better. He's an eccentric man, that Dumbledore._

_I wonder if these words, my words for you, can ever reach you up there but we'd give this letter a try, wouldn't we? Always believe in miracles._

_When I first met you I couldn't believe you were a Muggleborn. A smart girl you were, a class of your own most certainly and such a joy to teach. When unleashed, your talent was without a doubt unequalled. I have committed into my memory every smile you shared when succeeding in my class. And that's a plenty of smiles to remember. You were a good person, Lily. A Gryffindor to the core, even though I would have been more than delighted to see you in green and silver. One of the brightest I ever taught. You were lovely, charming, witty, and positively genuine. I wasn't a least bit surprised when you at last became the Head Girl, with your grades it would have been a shock if you hadn't._

_Your magic was exceptional and beautiful. I remember it like it was just yesterday, that day when you gave me Francis. It was spring afternoon, I remember it well, and I hope you would remember it, too. The warm breeze, the sun shining, all the good things. You had brought a bowl on my table, just a simple glass bowl with just few inches of water. And the petal, white it was, floating on the mirror like surface of the water._

_And when it sunk slowly and transformed in front of my eyes just before reaching the bottom of the bowl, I couldn't take my eyes away from it anymore. Francis became my lucky charm, Lily, and it brought happiness to my doleful days. There were, if you must know, several of those, with bad things happening every day. No one was safe._

_I never thought that from all people they would come after you but I knew what had happened the moment I saw the bowl empty. I knew you were gone._

_Lily, you can't, no one can, believe how upset I was, how much grieving it caused to me, to hear what had happened to you and your family. You had deserved everything and you had gotten everything. And you had lost everything, all in a flash._

_We lost you, Lily, and I'll never be willing to forget._

_You'll always be one of my dearest, favourite students. There's no one I can ever compare to you, and I don't even want to._

_"The most important thing in life is to see to it that you are never beaten." That quote was in a book, a muggle-made. It made me thought of you. Because you thought me that, Lily. Hopefully it will help me get through this pain losing you have brought to us._

_The bowl might be empty but your memory lives._

_It lives in the sunny evenings when the sky is shining in all the brilliant shades of red and gold over the treetops that chase the clouds._

_It lives in the lilies in the fresh meadows that sway in the gentle wind._

_It lives in all of us._

_Always missing you,_

_your Potions Master, Horace Slughorn_

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><p>AN: It's so short (not even reaching the minimum of 950 words; it was meant to be longer but it started to sound so forced I cut it down more than a bit) but enjoyed writing it.

Hoddie out.


End file.
